


Are you happy?

by amateurwriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Infidelity, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary is not a liked character in this story, Sex, no matter what i write i always end up with some amount of fluff, post-S3, s3 fix-it, they finally talk to each other, things getting explained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amateurwriter/pseuds/amateurwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The only option is, that you have some sort of a plan. Some crazy, brilliant plan that requires me living with her. So please, Sherlock. Tell me. I won't even be mad that you're keeping such essential things from me again. I promise. Just tell me. Tell me it's not much longer and I can come back here and just be with you like we were before. Tell me, Sherlock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-d, not brit-picked, english not my first language. Sorry if there are any mistakes!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of BBC Sherlock, I only borrow them as inspiration for my writing.

"How long?" asks John, out of the blue.

"'How long' what?" Sherlock startles and looks at the violin that he's surprised to see in his hand. He's been holding it for a solid half an hour now apparently, so he gently puts it back to its case and turns around to look at John.

"How long do I have to stay with her?"

"John, what on earth are you talking about?" Sherlock has no idea what John means, his lazy walk around the mind palace so suddenly interrupted.

"Mary! I'm talking about Mary and the fact that I can't stand her _presence_ , not to mention a conversation, eating dinners together or sleeping in the same bed!"

"John, what are you-" but his words are ignored as John continues on, like he didn't hear Sherlock speaking.

"She's so bloody annoying with her _smiles_ and her _knitting_ and ridiculous _baby names_! I cannot possibly imagine that you would want me back with her after what she did to you, so the only option is, that you have some sort of a plan. Some crazy, brilliant plan that requires me living with her. So please, Sherlock. Tell me. I won't even be mad that you're keeping such essential things from me _again_. I promise. Just tell me. Tell me it's not much longer and I can come back here and just be with you like we were before. Tell me, Sherlock." The end of the furious rant is a mere whisper, broken voice lined with tears shining in deep-blue eyes full of hope and pain.

"John," a small pause, feverish analysis of the words just spoken. "There is no plan."

"I don't understand." The beginnings of panic are becoming visible on his tired features, helpless gaze fixed on Sherlock's face.

"Well, I-" another hesitation followed by a blunt "You love her." John's only reaction is a burst of humourless laugh.

"I stopped loving her the moment I found out she put a bullet in your chest. And now I'm not even sure I ever really loved her in the first place."

"But you proposed. And- and got married, and you were happy with her until I destroyed everything. I told you to go back to her so you can get back what you've lost because of my mess." Now it's Sherlock's turn to sound defeated and weak.

" _You_ destroyed everything? You mean the part when she'd lied to me about who she was? Even her _name_? You mean the moment she decided to kill the most important person in my life? You mean when she threatened you repeatedly after shooting you? Or maybe the part when she disappears for whole days and I have no idea where she goes, so the only scenario in my head is her doing some wet jobs while pregnant with my baby? If it even _is_ my baby? How is any of this your mess, Sherlock?" John is now standing right in front of Sherlock, fuming with anger at his so-called wife.

"When you put it that way-"

"I'm not _putting_ it in any way, Sherlock. That's what things are like. Because of her."

"I just wanted you to be happy." Sherlock's voice sounds broken, probably the quietest John has ever heard. The detective's gaze is directed towards his friend, but it seems like he can't see anything in the room, his eyes dark and empty. The tiredness that Sherlock always so persistently denies, causes the lines on his face make him look a lot older. His right hand unconsciously moves to rest over the bullet scar hidden under his shirt and it feels like it's been John's heart that was hit.  

"And what about you, Sherlock? Are you happy?" John's hand joins the detective's long fingers over his chest, as if trying to take it all back, to take over Sherlock's pain and just let him be the brilliant mad detective again, not burdened with the seemingly endless strain of responsibilities-too-big and mistakes-too-hurtful. Dozens of _what-if's_ chasing multiple _could-have-been's_.

"That is not the subject of this conversation."

"But it is! It's the subject of my _life_ , Sherlock. I want you to be happy and safe and-and play your violin again, instead of just holding it with sadness." The doctor takes a small step back and motions slightly towards the instrument hidden away along with its bow.

"I don't _hold it with sadness_." A glimpse of old Sherlock shows as he huffs indignantly, and John almost smiles at that.

"When is the last time you played, then?"

"Just a few d-"

" _Sherlock_." And that's it, this is the time that John can finally tell when his best friend is lying to him. The stern note in his voice tells the detective he can't get away with it anymore, can't keep making up small, unimportant mistruths to spare John yet another moment of hurt.

"At the wedding." Sherlock says quietly, averting his eyes.

"The wed- _my_ wedding? Sherlock, that was months ago!" The doctor can't believe his own ignorance, can't comprehend how blind he's been. All this time spent with the most observant man on the planet, one would think John should learn to _observe_.

"I had no one to play for." Sherlock tries to explain himself, as if it was his fault that John neglected their friendship.

"I'm so sorry." John chokes out, his eyes slightly more shiny from the tears coming back.

"Whatever for?" The detective's tone is bewildered. "I misjudged. _Again_."

"Don't do that. Dear God, please stop blaming yourself for everything that's happened to us." John's voice became somewhat desperate, both of his hands travelling up to Sherlock's shoulders and holding them with a pleading look on his face.

"You should be with her. With your baby." John looks Sherlock in the eyes for a moment and when he sees the pain and desperation, he can't stand it anymore. He sighs loudly and just bonelessly slumps into Sherlock's arms. His hands land on that taut chest, feeling the heartbeat that not only means Sherlock is alive, but also makes John see the worth of living.

"This is where I want to be," he simply states - no blockades, no lies, only the bare truth voiced at last.

"In my arms?" Sherlock asks half-jokingly and yet, still sounding resigned. John however, stays unaffected by the forced casualness and responds with a confident, hopeful "If you'll let me."

The detective's arms close around John's body and they stand there, just holding each other, for quite a long time. Neither of them wants to let go, end the first truly honest thing that's happened between them in a long time. A few calm, blissful minutes later John decides to speak.

"How about we come up with a plan now? Together? And to stay _together_?" He moves in Sherlock's embrace to be able to look up into his face.

"You mean that?" The sheer amount of hope and nearly painful anticipation in that question conveys everything they both feel, no more words are needed and their lips meet in a kiss. After all they've been through, together _and_ apart, it's the most natural thing to happen.

The joining of their lips is sweet and gentle. It feels like a new chapter of their lives is starting, like the story is finally reaching the point where the main characters get to be happy.


	2. Chapter 2

When they tear apart, they look at each other and both have almost ecstatic looks on their faces. It's impossible to stop the grins, the happiness of getting what they've wanted since their very first meeting filling their hearts.

"Changed my mind." John says and before he gets to voice the rest of what's on his mind, Sherlock's face falls. A short gasp escapes his lips and the warmth of his hands disappears from John's body in an instant. "No! God, Sherlock, not about _us_." The doctor quickly explains and reaches for Sherlock's hand, but the detective is retreating even more, his brain fixed on the rejection.

"I understand, John. This is obviously not-"

" _Would you listen to me_?" John says loudly, using his Captain Voice. That gets Sherlock's attention and the pale blue eyes snap back to him. John's hand travels up to Sherlock's cheek, cupping it gently. "I love you," he states and watches as the detective's eyelids fall down and an unstoppable smile appears on his face again.

"I love you too."

John's face lights up and he takes a moment to savour the sweet confession with Sherlock's arms back around him.

"I only meant that I don't want to come up with the plan now. I thought we might just, um... sit together and not worry for at least a few hours? How about that?"

"Sounds perfect." Sherlock responds in a soft tone and his body relaxes visibly. He unwraps himself from around John but doesn't let go of the doctor's hand, and leads them both to the couch. "Do you want some tea?"

"I never thought I'd live to the day Sherlock Holmes offers to make me some tea." John jokes and gets an indistinct _hmpf_ in response as Sherlock turns around and heads for the kitchen. The doctor snickers and gets back up to follow him. "Don't sulk, love." His strong arms circle Sherlock's waist from behind and he strokes his nose over the pale nape before he turns the detective around and kisses him.

"You clearly didn't think this through. If that's what I get for sulking, I'm probably going to be throwing tantrums for the rest of my life." Sherlock's words sound cocky and John can see the mirth dancing around in his eyes.

"Oh, you have no idea what's the reward for a proper cup of tea offered with a smile."

Sherlock's eyes widen instantly and his hips twitch involuntarily against John's thigh. A faint blush spreads over his gorgeous cheekbones and he bursts with loud laughter. "Doctor Watson, are you flirting with me?"

"I believe I am, Mister Holmes." John says with a cheeky grin and kisses Sherlock's neck, just a dry peck at first, but then his tongue darts out and he tastes that porcelain-white skin for the first time. He hears the man in front of him breathe out and a small hum of content accompanies the little smack John's lips cause as he retreats. "So how about that tea?"

"Wh-what?" The world's only consulting detective gives him a dreamy look and then he pulls himself together and turns back around to fish the teabags out of the cabinet. "Coming right up."

"Great."

As they wait for the water to boil, they sit down and their hands meet on the table, long fingers tangling with tanned ones. Sherlock's eyes dart to John's for a second and then land down on their joined limbs again.

"Are you staying here?" He asks very quietly.

"If you'll have me," is John's instant answer.

"What about-"

"I'll text her, say we have a case. And tomorrow we'll worry about what's next." He  makes it all sound so easy, Sherlock wants to just curl up in his arms and never leave.

And the best part is, he can. There definitely will be trouble ahead, but now they're together, truly _together,_ and they can deal with whatever comes their way.

"Stay, then. Stay forever." Sherlock says and lifts John's hand to his lips. The kettle clicks at that moment and he gets up to finish making the tea.

John stands up as well and leaves the kitchen to fish out the phone from his jacket pocket and text Mary. He quickly taps the touchscreen a few times and sends the message. Less than twenty seconds later he receives a simple 'ok' and with a satisfied sneer turns the phone off and throws it back into the pocket.

As he turns around, he sees Sherlock sitting on the couch, two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of him, a polite smile on his face. John's eyes darken a little bit and he moves slowly towards the love of his life.

"Thank you for the tea," is all he says and his lips cover Sherlock's, not giving any chance for a response.

This kiss is different than the ones they shared before and Sherlock can feel it right away. John's tongue darts out slightly and he licks the detective's lower lip seductively, startling a small gasp out of him and causing his mouth to open.

For a few moments they just taste, explore and savour each other, but soon enough they both want _more_. Sherlock feels a hot, heavy hand gripping and suggestively pulling at his waist. He gets the hint and swings his right leg over John, sitting down in his lap. The taller man's hands land on John's chest and his grip tightens as he feels fingers sinking into his curls and pulling him even closer.

The heat between them thickens and Sherlock starts moving his hips slightly, their groins grinding. That results in a long, loud moan from them both and John bucks up to match Sherlock's movement. Two hard, heavy cocks separated by John's pants and denim trousers and Sherlock's pyjama bottoms rub against each other.

"Get up." John says in a raspy voice and when Sherlock looks into his eyes, he can only see the blackness of the dilated pupils.

"What for?"

"Clothes. Get off your-" before John finishes the sentence Sherlock's weight disappears and he pulls the doctor right up with him. They both tumble with each other's shirts, lips wandering over necks, jaws and shoulders - anything, not to stop the contact for even a second.

Their naked torsos collide and their kissing becomes messy, breaths stuttering and hands set on taking off the down parts of their clothing. The moment they realize they are both completely naked, they simultaneously slow down and open their eyes, taking the smallest step back. The look of utter admiration appears on their faces.

"I love you," they say at the same second and after the initial astonishment, they burst with laughter. Sherlock kisses John through the giggles and pushes him down onto the couch. They land in the same position as before, with the detective's knees on both sides of the doctor's hips.

With a slight push of his pelvis, Sherlock causes their cocks to touch and John's hand closes around them both. The feeling is amazing, desire surging through their veins and accommodating between their legs. A thin layer of sweat covers their bodies and no small amount of pre-come eases the slide of the doctor's hand. Sherlock's fingers join his lover's and together, they are moving up and down in a slow but firm motion.

Sherlock adds the shifting of his hips to that, unable to stay still. His breath hitches and he breaks their kiss, forehead leaning on John's shoulder. He can feel the doctor's lips travelling along his skin and settling on the dip at the bottom of his neck. Gentle laps of an eager tongue change into persistent sucking and scratches of possessive teeth. The thought of a purple-red hickey that's certain to appear on his almost-white skin in a few minutes - and last a few _days -_ makes him clench his hand more tightly.

"John. Jo-hn, john _john_." Sherlock can feel the muscles in his lower abdomen clench sweetly and the impending force of his orgasm makes him shiver.

"Yeah, that's it. Go on, love. Let me see you." John's hoarse encouragement is all Sherlock needs.

He comes with a shout, white streaks spilling over their hands and covering their chests. Through the haze of pleasure he can hear his lover's moans and as he opens his eyes, he sees John's face scrunch up delightfully. The doctor's hips move up and lift Sherlock a bit as the orgasm hits him as well.

Their gazes meet a moment later and they smile at each other with adoration. Sherlock's blissed-out body slumps down half-against John and the sudden shift of weight makes the doctor let out a surprised breath.

"Sorry," murmurs the detective and places a small kiss on his upper arm.

"That was..." John starts, trying to find the words flattering enough to describe the incredible sex they'd just had. Coming up empty after a few seconds, he just finishes with a pleased "yeah."

"Yeah," repeats Sherlock. "I think you'll need to carry me to bed." John huffs a laugh at that.

"Don't provoke me."

"You wouldn't." Sherlock makes it sound like a warning, his brows narrowing slightly.

John rapidly moves and reaches for the detective's body, as if about to lift him up. A high, indignant shrill escaping Sherlock's throat makes the doctor laugh and he just dips down for a kiss. "I would, about ten years ago. Now, I'm afraid I'm too old for post-mindblowing-sex carrying my lover around the flat."

"And thank God for that." Sherlock rolls his eyes, but there's amusement visible in them.

"Oi! Are you admitting that I'm old?" John asks with mock outrage.

"Of course not, you're just about perfect." Sherlock answers and kisses John soundly.

"So are you."

They stay on the couch for some time, just enjoying each other's closeness. When John feels Sherlock shiver in the evening chill of the apartment, he nuzzles the dark curls and asks, "How about a shower, huh? And after,  we can re-heat the leftovers and eat them in your bed and go to sleep."

"Yeah," mumbles the detective in an already sleepy voice. "And wake up next to you tomorrow."

"Exactly," smiles John, gets up from the couch and grips Sherlock's hand to lead him to the bathroom.


End file.
